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Monthly Archives: September 2015

But – because I was starting to wonder why I had a friend who showed no sign of liking me much – I played only Schoenberg’s Gurreleider and some Schnittke quartets on the drive. I’d occasionally glance at Mikey, and he seemed a little more unhappy every time. Ah, passive-aggressive me. Still, it kept me amused. And I like Schoenberg and Schnittke.

Anyway, the party was fun. There was a skinny girl there, wearing those pajamas that girls from mainland China sometimes wear, until they take a look at what the local Chinese girls are wearing. I didn’t notice her at first, but a group of us had gone out for an expedition to the playground in the park across the road. Most of them, inevitably, were stoned.

I wasn’t, so when we came to a sort of revolving cylinder thing for kids to run in, making the cylinder turn while they ran in place, I put my feet apart and braced my hands against the top (well, it was the top at that stage in its spin), and I managed to stay in place, revolving while the cylinder revolved. It was showing off, but I was curious to see if I could do it.

When I’d done one and a half revolutions, and I was upside down, supporting myself with my arms, a girl said, “Wow! Who is that?”

It was the Chinese girl, on her knees, crawling into the cylinder. From my place, upside down with my head close to floor level, I noted the front of her blouse falling up to expose her breasts, which – though still smallish – seemed to be bigger than a skinny girl should have.

So I tumbled down, and rolled until I was on my hands and knees facing her, my eyes level with her face rather than her nipples. I said, “Hi, I’m Jaime.”

She said, “Qing. My name’s Qing.”

“Ching? Oh, Qing. Nice to meet you.”

“Are you at uni here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Nah.” I told her the town I lived in. “I just came for the party.”

“Ahh? Who do you know, here?”

“Well, not a soul, actually. I drove up with some guy who wanted a lift.”

“Oh? Then how -?”

But that was all she said. Some guy crash-tackled her from behind and dragged her out of the cylinder with his arms round her waist. So I figured that she had a boyfriend and that was him, and I went back to the house where the party was on.

I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking a short break from the Raylene saga. I’ve got another story I’ve been meaning to tell for a while. Seems that it’s time.

Mouth to mouth

I once went to a party in a small town, held by a group of students from the local university, where I was made an odd sexual offer.

This town was in the high plains, so it was icy and snowy in winter, and clear and chill in the summer. It was a beautiful place, with forests, a river, and nearby mountains, but it was cold at the best of times.

The combination of small town and cold means that the students there don’t have a lot of entertainment options, and they spend a lot of time in bed to keep warm. So if one student suggests to another that they sleep together, that student has to be fairly repellent before they’ll be turned down.

The result is that by third year pretty much every student at that university has had sex with everyone in their faculty, at least the people that are even vaguely fuckable, and they’re starting to work on the more distant faculties.

So psych students sleep with agricultural students, anthropology students sleep with business studies students, and plant sciences students start sleeping with Ancient History and Language students. It’s Sodom, Gomorrah, and cats fucking dogs.

I came to the party – a trip of about 140 miles – because a friend had invited me. He, Mikey, wanted to spend the week-end fucking his girlfriend before he dumped her. She was waiting for him to come and collect her, and she didn’t know about the new girl Mikey had found in my town.

I knew Mikey was a bit of a jerk, but I didn’t know any of that. Yet. Mikey had invited me because I had a car, so that if I went to this party I’d probably give him a lift there and back. That was his way of demanding a favor without having to acknowledge it, or me.

Still, I felt like a road trip, so I packed a spare shirt, a change of underpants and socks, and a toothbrush. And, after a pause while I thought about the odds, condoms.

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Raylene leaned forward awkwardly. Her wrists were tied behind her back, using her old school uniform tie. I’d taken two dressing gown cords to tie her shins to her thighs, so that she was forced to remain in her kneeling position. It wasn’t elegant but it was effective.

I’d tied one of her silk scarves, shining and peach, around her eyes. She was folded, and blind. She could focus instead on the feel of my cock in her mouth, and its reactions when she closed her lips on the shaft, and laved it with her tongue.

I kept mostly still, letting her do the work, savouring the warm smooth wetness of her mouth.

I’d taken a generous grip of her hair and held her head against me. I let her ease backwards when she showed signs of choking, but carefully so she could feel that she could only back off from my cock as much as I allowed. When she’d relaxed I’d push her head firmly back onto my cock. I felt she could reasonably feel helpless: helplessly tied, helplessly held and helplessly serving.

It drifted into my mind that I didn’t know how to end this. I was hard in the loving care of Raylene’s mouth, but I didn’t think there was any chance of my coming. And she might feel she’d failed if I didn’t.

I supposed I could suddenly push her all the way back onto her back and fuck her with her thighs and wrists still tied. That would be uncomfortable, and hot. And if she came then she wouldn’t know whether I had.

In the meantime Raylene kept her head down, sucking hard, her head bobbing on my cock as she worked. The razor strop was beside her right knee and I picked it up and let it fall across her shoulder. She made a noise through her nose, of protest or acceptance; I couldn’t tell. But she knew what that touch from the strop meant, all right.

But I heard, more or less subconsciously, the front door being opened and closed, very quietly. Then, less quietly a tall girl pounding up the stairs. Raylene’s door had drifted open while we’d been distracted, so that wasn’t going to hold her. I grabbed the sheet and draped it over Raylene and, for that matter, most of me.

Dorabella poked her head around Raylene’s door. “Hi you two! Would you like a cup of tea?”

“What? Look, welcome back, Dorabella. Now go away.”

But then there was squirming on my cock, and a wordless protesting noise. Apparently that was wrong. I said, “Ah. Okay. Two cups of tea, apparently.”

Raylene had turned her back to me and closed her eyes, so I’d pulled a sheet up from the floor and draped it over us, but mostly her, and put an arm round her.

She slept while I watched her, snuggled in close, the heat and feminine roundness of her arse pressed against me.

My cock was still wet with her fluids, comfortable and exhausted. And smug: I remembered Raylene’s screams, and that we’d lost count of her orgasms.

Raylene may have had a similar memory, because she pushed her hips back, making the querulous little moan that babies make when they’re starting to wake up. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was sucking her thumb, and she rubbed her ass against me. Maybe she wanted to let the coolness of my body take some of the heat from her strapped bottom and thighs. Maybe she wanted my cock to wake up and show some interest. Her mouth stopped working on that imaginary thumb, and her breathing relaxed. She was asleep again, but she still undulated her hips, very slowly.

The heat of her skin against my cock reminded me of how we’d spent our afternoon, and thoughts about that got me to semi-erect. So my cock pressed slightly more firmly against her ass, and that tighter contact meant that my cock got harder. And so on. It’s a virtuous circle.

So I began to pump her, my cock sliding along the crevice between her buttocks. Raylene began to move her ass in time with my thrusts. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing was still regular and quiet, but it was obvious that she’d woken and was only pretending to be asleep. So I reached down under the sheet, and stroked her bottom lightly, and then smacked her. She turned and gazed at me, shocked and betrayed.

“I’d be sorry to have woken you. But I didn’t, did I?”

Raylene rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. “I thought you might try to fuck me while I was asleep. I was going to let you win.”

“I’d have to do a fair bit of shoving you about before I could just stick my cock in. Roll you over, get your legs apart, get your ass up, depending on how I’m going to fuck you. And if you – if any woman – looks asleep while that’s going on, then you’re faking. Or you’re drunk or drugged out of your brain, and … Well. Not my idea of a good time.”

“Yeah. Creepy, that shit.”

There was something in her voice. “That’s happened to you?”

“You lie down with boot boys…” She pulled a face. “Can I tell you some other time? Right now it’d be a buzzkill. Sir.”

“Ernfff. Okay, we can talk about it later. Would you like -?”

“What I’d like to do is suck your cock.”

I’d been about to offer to get her a glass of water. But that seemed more interesting. “Well, you’ll have to beg nicely.”

“Please, Sir, can I… Wait a minute. I have to beg you to be allowed to suck your cock?”

“Well, you get to serve me. And it’s a very nice cock. But what’s in it for me?”

Raylene looked at me, astonished. Then she laughed. “Yeah ok-ay. An oldie but a goodie. So, please sir, may I pretty please have the pleasure of sucking your cock?”

“I think so. But I think I’ll have you tied for that.” I looked around her room, not finding what I wanted. “Got any rope? Or cord, maybe?”

I smacked Raylene’s arse affectionately, making her yelp, and her arse bob about like a landed fish. The yelp was pretty, and her ass, firm and brightly burning red, was pretty too. I left my hand on her blazing ass, to enjoy the heat and her movements while she rocked herself on my cock. I squeezed her right buttock, quite hard. She suppressed that yelp, but looked at me to see if I was going to smack her or squeeze her some more. I met her gaze, looking sympathetic. “Hurts, does it?”

Her expression became woeful and her lower lip pushed out. Sympathy? Well, that was about time. She said, “Of course it hurts. You strapped my arse. And my legs You spanked me. My bum is so sore. How’m I even going to sit down for dinner?”

I smiled at her. “Oh, at dinner you’ll do as you’re told, whether it hurts or not. Doesn’t matter.”

“What?” Raylene was indignant. She’d had her thrashing, and now she expected petting and kisses.

But she wasn’t going to get them yet. “You do know that I when I strapped you, I was punishing you? And that means I meant it to hurt?”

“What? I thought I get kisses and you rub cold cream into my bottom. I’ve had my strapping.”

I was trying to look stern, but I couldn’t help grinning at that. “Dunno what you’re been reading. But we’re not finished yet, girl.” Then I pressed my hand down, hard, on her ass, and thrust my hips up, getting my cock a little deeper.

“Oh.” Raylene seemed happy enough with this. I sped up, and she puffed in time with our movements, her arse bobbing on my lap like a bouy in choppy water. A hot, red bouy. We rocked together.

After a long time I took the razor strop and pressed it between her thighs. It pressed against her lips, in the places where my cock wasn’t. She was wet. I guess the razor strop was wet too, now. Raylene made a sound that sounded like a sob, but wasn’t. I pushed the strop harder against her cunt, still just a little above where my cock had lodged in her.

I rubbed that hard leather in circles while we fucked. She closed her eyes, holding my leg tighter, and began to fuck me, with fast, shallow movements. She might have remembered the warning I’d given her about letting my cock slip out of her. My orgasm was not far away, and I started to make my own groans and grunts and gasps. We both sped up, scrambling for the end.

The sob sounded again, then again, and Raylene screamed. I ignored that, still letting my orgasm build, and she screamed again, then again. I kept going, and she continued to scream, but at longer intervals. At last she seemed spent. I said, “Hoooaahhh hah,” as one does, or I do, and came in her, in that surge of honey-sweet power.

We lay there in the afterwards, hearts pounding against our rib cages, breath gasping and mingling. I could feel my cock starting to come down. Almost as if it was ticking. Raylene looked at me. In a while she laughed. Not because anything was funny. She was just happy. I looked at her, and no matter what I did or tried, my grin widened till I laughed too.

Raylene wriggled while she absorbed this latest hurt. Her wriggling on my cock, I decided, is a good thing, and I lay back to enjoy it. It crossed my mind to give her another whack with the razor strop, just to set her a-wriggling again.

But I had a different goal, and when she was still I started thrusting into her from underneath, setting up a regular rhythm that lifted her ass on the up strokes.

I swung the strop down as her ass was rising so they met in mid-air, catching her at the highest point. I din’t strap her every time she arched her ass up; I’d give her a fresh stroke roughly every thirty seconds.

I watched Raylene’s excellently mobile ass writhe and rise and fall in its dance with the strap. She was beautifully firm and rounded, glowing with color and heat. After the second stroke she figured out that the strop would always land when her ass was up, and she could handle it best and avoid extra strokes if she dropped instantly to take my cock fully inside her. And, of course, it was sexier that way.

She reached back to hold my thigh with both hands, to reassure and anchor herself while her ass was caught between my cock and the razor strop. While she was being fucked, the hard leather across her arse added exclamation points to her sensations.

She concentrated fiercely, her face crimson. I took my time applying the last seven strokes. I made the middle strokes less hard, but put extra speed and force into the last two so that she cried out.

When I’d finished her strapping the tension dropped a little. Raylene’s eyes were gleaming a little: she’d come close to tears. But she ground herself luxuriously on my cock, seeming happy to have it where it was. She looked sideways at me. “Is that it?” I nodded, and her eyes widened. “I took thirty strokes! Co-ol.”

I said what a dom has to say, under the circumstances. “You were very good, Raylene. You’re a very brave girl.”

I gave Raylene a warning shot, the razor strop biting across the already bright surface of her bottom. She gasped and her ass jerked up, almost losing my cock from inside her. I gasped. I needed warm wetness around my cock, not air.

I said, “No!”, and swung the strop again, this time on her upper thighs. Raylene drew a hissing breath, and looked at me. Indignation showed on her face for a second, then she cleared it. I put my hand firmly on her ass, feeling and savouring the new warmth.

“Raylene, have you ever known a man to like it if you let his cock slip out of your cunt?”

There was the ghost of a smile. “No, sir. That’s not popular.”

“Right. Now, I’m going to give you your last strokes, and you’re going to take special care to keep your cunt on me. If my cock is out of your cunt before I’ve finished strapping you, I’ll be angry with you. I’ll strap you, hard. Do you understand?”

Raylene lowered her head again, to rest on the mattress. Her flush had deepened. “Yes.” Her voice sounded throaty. She coughed. “Yes, yes sir, I do understand.”

Raylene looked confused. She was wondering if she had to respond to that. I resolved that issue by raising the strop and bringing it down hard on her ass. She bounced upwards, but she managed to stay on her fulcrum. She grunted loudly. I said “One!”

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